The children of Ma’liksa, the god of luck, chance and virtuous wealth, were always welcome by the populace. Especially when it came to freelancers such as herself. She hums a wordless tune to herself softly as she watches the world go by. Eventually the vendors leave, still spitting venom at each other, a few of the city guard coming by not much later to question the passersby. She watches as the sun finally dips below the horizon, then pushes herself from the window to put on her boots, grabs the letter on her desk, then leaves the room, locking it behind her.
Kor’lo grins toothily. “Not to worry, dear Vara. Kor’lo hasss their connectionsss. The isle of Bru’la is waiting! Thhink of the vacation we could have! The island fruitsss make Kor’lo’ss mouth water.”
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